If the Shoe Fits (16 page)

Julianne reached over and touched Veronica’s hand, and every bit of composure drained from the woman’s face as she asked, “Can you help me, Julianne?”

“Mr. Hanes, follow the light as closely as you can without moving your neck.”

Will stood back and watched as the doctor examined his father. He tried not to allow his thoughts to jump ahead to the possible diagnoses, but his imagination had a mind of its own.

“How long since you were diagnosed with Parkinson’s?”

“About a year,” Davis told him, trailing the ray of light.

“And you said the new meds have been effective.”

“They have,” Will chimed in. “His tremors have subsided quite a lot, and Dr. Donnelly told us that the limited movements were bradykinesia associated with the Parkinson’s. But this morning was very different than it’s been before. He tried to get out of the chair and fell right back down to it, two different times. His mouth looked a little misshapen, and it looked like one corner turned downward. When I tried to help him up, he became very confused. I don’t think he even recognized me for a good two or three minutes.”

Davis didn’t seem to have anything to add. As the doctor flipped off the light and slipped the ophthalmoscope into his pocket, Davis lowered his eyes and stared at the floor.

Will touched his dad’s arm until Davis looked up. “How do you feel now, Pop?”

“Like everyone’s making much ado about nothing much.”

Will chuckled. “That’s the way he is, Doc. Not a big fan of the fuss.”

“Every now and then, a little fuss is called for, Mr. Hanes,” the doctor said. “Your son did the right thing bringing you in. I’d like to get a CAT scan and do some labs, just to make sure this is related to the Parkinson’s and not something else hiding behind it, like a mild stroke or dehydration. Is that all right with you?”

Davis shrugged.

The doctor patted his shoulder as he nodded at Will. “They’ll come and get him in a few minutes. Just sit tight.”

Will helped his dad get settled before excusing himself to call Julianne.

“Where are you!” she exclaimed. “Veronica Caswell just left the office, Will. You missed the whole meeting!”

“Hang on, Jules. I’m with my dad at the ER.”

She seemed to choke on whatever she nearly said next. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you all about it later. They’re running some tests, and I don’t know how long we’ll be tied up here, or if they’re even going to keep him overnight.”

“What can I do?”

“I’ve got a couple of items on the calendar today. Will you ask Phoebe to reschedule lunch with Lloyd for me?”

“Of course.”

“Will you be all right going on the pig trip without me this afternoon?” he asked seriously.

“Yes, Will. I think I can survive a pig farm on my own.”

“I meant Rand. Can you survive Rand without me?”

Julianne giggled. “I’ll try.”

“How did the meeting go with Veronica Caswell?”

“We have a new client.”

“Excellent,” he said. “Details.”

“Later. Give my love to your dad?”

“Of course. I’ll call you later.”

“That one looks just like Wilbur,” Emily cried, and she hurried across the barn and fell to her knees in front of the circular fenced enclosure.

The little Wilbur look-alike wobbled toward her and pushed its flat nose against her outstretched hand and squealed. In the next few seconds, several others joined him. Julianne supposed that, if she happened to be in the market for a six-week-old pot-bellied pig, she would choose the black one with the glossy gray eyes.

“But I don’t think I should get one that looks like Wilbur, should I, Gramps?” Pastor Alden knelt down beside her and scratched a pink piglet with his index finger. “I mean, it might feel like I was trying to replace him or something, you know?”

“I think that’s very wise, Em. What about the little black one?”

Emily reached over the fence and rubbed Julianne’s choice behind the ear. “I like the white spot on the tip of her tail. It looks like God dipped it in paint.”

Julianne glanced at Rand, standing in the doorway to the barn, looking about as uncomfortable and out of place as his shiny leather oxfords.

“Rand,” she whispered as she joined him at the door. “Maybe you could just pretend to be interested?”

“Why?” he asked. “She wants a pig. I’m buying her a pig. She didn’t say I had to know which one she picks, or that I had to pretend to care.”

“Tell me again why you’re getting a divorce.”

“Hey.”

“Sorry. But still. Could you force an effort at just general human kindness, please?”

Emily rushed toward them, the black piglet squirming in her arms. “Julianne! Look at her. Isn’t she adorable? I’m gonna call her Shena.”

“My granddaughter loves that singer, Shena Gomez,” Pastor Dean commented with a smile.

Julianne tickled the pig’s fuzzy chin and giggled. How flattered the pop star would be if she knew a pot-bellied pig had been named after her.

“So that’s the one, huh?” Rand asked in monotone, and Julianne suppressed a laugh.

Well, at least he tried
.

“Uh-huh.” She nodded.

“All right then. Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute,” Emily chided. “You still have to pay.”

“Right.”

“And we have to talk about that other thing,” she added, looking more like Rand’s mother than the child who had negotiated a new pig and some gun restriction.

“What other thing?”

Julianne leaned toward him and ribbed him with her elbow. “The gun thing.”

“Oh. That.”

“You didn’t get rid of it, did you?” Emily asked him, one arm wrapped around Shena and the other bent, her hand on her hip. “You have to get rid of it. Doesn’t he, Julianne?”

“It was part of the deal,” she reminded Rand, and the look on his face made her laugh right out loud.

He didn’t stamp his foot, but Julianne confidently expected him to do just that from the expression on his unhappy face. Instead, he nodded for Emily to follow him through the barn door.

“How much?” he asked the farm owner.

Pastor Dean placed his arm around Julianne’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “It’s a good thing you’ve done here.”

Julianne shrugged, and then shot him a smile. “She’s a very cool little girl.”

“I think so.”

“And speaking of cool girls … thank you so much for sending us Phoebe! She’s a gem.”

“Phoebe?”

“Yes. Phoebe Trent. She’s running the place like she invented the concept of a law office. Will and I couldn’t be any happier.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he removed his arm from her shoulder and turned to face her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Phoebe.”

“Yes, so you said. Who is Phoebe?”

“Phoebe—”

“Trent. Yes. I heard you, Julianne. But I don’t know anyone by that name, and I didn’t send her to you.”

“That’s not … possible. She …”

The brakes of Julianne’s thoughts screeched to a stop as she pored over the facts, trying to make sense of things, struggling to remember how she’d come to believe Phoebe had been recommended by her pastor.

“You didn’t send her.”

“I did not. I referred Carmen Juarez.”

“Who?”

“She’s the daughter of a friend. But by the time she got to you, you’d already hired someone.”

After several beats, Julianne tried to swallow around the dry lump in her throat. “Then why would she … How did we …”

“I’m ready to go home, Gramps,” Emily called out to him from the doorway of the barn.

The pastor rubbed Julianne’s arm. “I hope you get it sorted out. And I want to thank you for what you’ve done here.”

Julianne absently nodded as she scratched her head. “Mm-hmm.”

Pastor Dean headed toward his car with Emily, the young girl chattering away. “He won’t get rid of his gun, Gramps. But he promised to lock it away in two different places, the gun in one place and the bullets in another place. We neg-ertiated it.”

“That’s a very good compromise,” he commented.

“Bye, Mr. Winters,” she called. “Thank you!”

“Yeah. Bye, kid.” Rand stood in front of Julianne, glaring at her. “What’s with you?”

“I …” No sense in sharing it with Rand. “I have to go.”

“Yeah, okay. Glad this is over. Just have your girl send me the bill.”

Julianne’s neck snapped. “What?”

“Your girl. Tell her to send me the bill.”

“Oh. Yes. I will.”

“You look like you need a drink, Bartlett.”

She blinked. “Rand, you know I don’t drink.”

“You look like you should start.”

“Go,” she said. “Get in your car … and go.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

Julianne pushed through
the office
door to find Phoebe on the phone. She stood in front of her desk, still unsure of what she might say, knowing full well that she had to say …
something
.

“Yes, the initial consultation is free, so if you’d like to set up an appointment to talk it over with one of the law partners …”

Julianne pointed at her office and nodded before heading in. She slipped out of her jacket and hung it on the wall hook next to the door before proceeding to her desk chair and sinking into it.

So. You lied and I bought it
.

No. She couldn’t say that.

Who are you, really? Is Phoebe Trent even your real name?

That either
.

Phoebe appeared in the doorway with one of her big old smiles, blinding Julianne. “Did you want to see me?”

“Yes. Come in.”

She sat down in the chair across from her desk, and Julianne narrowed her eyes and wondered if this was her first good honest look at the executive assistant from who-knew-where. Her dark curls framed an almost-angelic face: Turned-up little nose, full lips glossed with deep pink to highlight that bright white smile, chocolate eyes fringed by dark, full lashes. If she remembered right, she was around twenty.

“Where are you from, Phoebe?”

“All over the place,” she replied.

“I think I remember your résumé saying you moved here from Florida after working for a realtor for three years? That’s where you learned your office skills? Typing, filing systems, organizational things?”

“Yes.”

Julianne leaned back in her chair and stared at the girl.

“Is … something wrong?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Phoebe swallowed hard. Her pretty eyes rounded and she silently looked back at Julianne without blinking. “What is it?” she finally asked.

“Well, I’m trying to think back to the day you came into this office with your résumé in hand, Phoebe … and how you told me that Pastor Dean had recommended you for the position.”

She looked down at the floor for an instant before lifting her head and looking Julianne directly in the eye. “I didn’t say that.”

“You certainly did.”

“I didn’t,” she gently insisted. “They hadn’t painted the title on the door yet, and I asked you if this was Dean & Dean. That’s where my interview was supposed to be, but I couldn’t find the office.”

Julianne inhaled sharply before narrowing her eyes. “Dean & Dean.”
Like Pastor Dean
?

“And you stood up and shook my hand,” she reminded her. “You said how happy you were that I came in, and you asked for my résumé. You told me you didn’t see much office experience on it, and I told you that I’d worked at the real estate office.”